


Party Favors

by watername



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Breathplay, Collars, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of Youngbae/others, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watername/pseuds/watername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm always the mom of the group. Sometimes...." Youngbae's eyebrows furrowed in drunk thought. "I want to be the pet. Yeah. The pet gets taken care of." (Youngbae gets collared, for his own good. PWP)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Favors

**Author's Note:**

> Stretching my long-dusty smut muscles.

Privately, Youngbae knows it doesn't make much sense, this arrangement between members. It's impossible to untangle public and private lives in their industry: to pretend otherwise actively invites disaster. And yet, it doesn't stop any of them, when they know that stopping will drive everyone off the edge. It's dangerous and stupid, but it's right, if it works. And it does work.

Youngbae has always been the one who takes care of the others - sometimes with a pointed edge, sometimes sweetly - but he does it nonetheless, day in and day out. It wasn't a problem with Jiyong when they were trainees: there were only two lives to manage, plenty of room. But then others were added, and Youngbae couldn't not look after them as well. It went against his nature. And so he squeezed them all in, Daesung, Seungri, Seunghyun. He made room for all of them in his life, playing mother when they weren't eating, when they didn't clean up, when they, in short, were too busy to look after themselves. He did it for all of them.

And all of that was well and good, somehow he pulled off the trick of keeping them in line, until scandals poured in, one after the other. They all took each other's troubles seriously, guarded each other jealously against rumor and judgment, but when it was always Youngbae who took care of the small things for his members' sake, he couldn't help but take on the large things as well. He piled the others' cares so high on his back and pushed on, refusing to let it show for their sake. They didn't need to worry about him. 

So they didn't, he didn't ask them to, and they all came through the other side stronger than ever. 

Everyone is aware that it would have continued on like that, unspoken, untended to, had Youngbae not gotten wasted, leaned up against Jiyong in the club, and said, "I wish I could just give up."

Jiyong looked at him, at how his eyes were wide and honest, and asked, tentatively, "What?"

Youngbae shrugged, loose and uncoordinated. 

"I'm always the mom of the group. Sometimes...." his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "The pet. Yeah. The pet gets taken care of and doesn't have to do  _shit._ "

Jiyong's throat went dry, and he pushed another drink at Youngbae, who swallowed it without question and fell back against the couch, looking content and relieved to have it off his chest.

* * *

From there, it came to this: the simple line of a black collar that strips Youngbae of all of his responsibilities. When he wears it, everyone else makes decisions for him - when to sleep, when to eat, when to fall to his knees. He only has to ask for it to be put on him, and to be taken off, and it will be, but everything between those two requests is out of his hands. 

It's about responsibility, and removing the burdens of it from his shoulders. Where the others only wear their own 24/7, Youngbae constantly has his own responsibilities and others on the forefront of his mind. When he wears the collar, for a break, sometimes he does nothing more than listen to Daesung, who more often than not tells him to sit down and eat something, or Seungri, who makes him go out to a club and drink too much, insisting it's for his own good. And for the small portion of his life where he wears it, he lets others make the call on what's best for him, with no objections. Some things he wouldn't choose to do on his own - but that's the point. He lets others make the choices for him.

It's not always about sex, though that's where the line of responsibility is the starkest, where the extent of his lack of control is emphasized when he bends, yields, and surrenders. It is a strange freedom, but he can't deny that it works, when he takes the collar off he goes back to being himself, only better, more capable, more focused.

This time, though, it is about sex; when he puts it on, and Jiyong slips thin fingers between the collar and his skin, and pulls him forward into a kiss that marks the slide into submission. He holds there for as long as he wants, plunges his tongue between lips that open easily, willingly, at his touch. JIyong licks against his teeth and explores without abandon. He brings his other hand up and fists the leather on each side, so the collar presses against the apple of his throat. His pulse frantically flickers beneath the pressure. 

He falls back onto the couch and pulls Youngbae down on top of him, his legs straddling Jiyong's lap. He breathes against Youngbae's lips and tells him to strip, watches through half-lidded eyes as he accedes immediately, pulls his shirt over his head. Jiyong runs his hands languidly up and down the planes of his chest, tweaks his nipple playfully and Youngbae's fingers jump from where they were working at unbuttoning his pants. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

"I didn't say stop," he reminds him, and Youngbae swallows, pulls himself up off the couch so he can wriggle his pants off and down. Jiyong reaches out his hand and traces the outline of his cock through the thin material of his boxers. 

"This too," and he watches closely as Youngbae pulls them down and steps out, stands in front of him exposed but for the strip of leather circling his throat. 

Jiyong gets it, in a way he doesn't think the others quite do, despite their participation. He commands Youngbae easily, with the knowledge of that first confession, the experience of how long Youngbae has been giving all of himself to others, and uses both of those to wring Youngbae out fully, until he's too exhausted to remember what it's like to fret. He runs his hands over his body and grips him tight, marks the curves and lines of his muscles with sharp fingernails because he  _can,_ so the next time Youngbae can look at the faint scratches on his skin and remember he can always come back and give up himself for even a short time.

He reaches out and takes Youngbae's cock in his hand, twists hard to the left, and making Youngbae groan and flex his fingers to control his response.

"You should make noise," Jiyong says, casually, and like that with every new twist Youngbae gasps, loudly, and pushes all of his feelings to the front of his throat, where it goes guttural and rough. He's pretty sure everyone can hear him, and normally that would bother him, but if Jiyong isn't concerned, he isn't either. Not like this.

His fingers are stroking long and sure, and his other hand comes underneath to cup his testicles, dry and warm in his palm. He rolls them deftly and Youngbae's eyes roll to the back of his head as his knees buckle forward, and Jiyong encourages him, moves his hand to his back to push him to his knees. Jiyong leans forward, his fingers continuing to roll and Youngbae tilts his head forward, breath stuttering before it can even come out properly. Jiyong steals even that from him, sealing his mouth over his. He feels lightheaded, tugged down to earth only by the demands of Jiyong's touch.

He moves his hand up to grab the hair at the back of Youngbae's hair, tugging so that his neck is exposed, and he struggles to keep his eyes open, only the dim lights above barely entering his vision. Jiyong is moving thoroughly across his neck, jaw, collarbone, nipping and licking wherever his whims take him. There's no pattern, each bite sends a jolt curling into the pit of his pelvis like a dog.

Youngbae licks his lips, the part of his brain he always gives to others weakly protesting that he's getting everything here, and he paws at Jiyong's crotch, only to be batted away. 

"You do what I want," Jiyong mutters roughly against his throat. "And I want you to come."

"But-" he begins to say, but Jiyong clamps his hand over his mouth, levels his gaze with his and squeezes his cock in his hand painfully hard. 

"It doesn't matter what you want."

And it doesn't, not here, not when the collar is tight and binding and freeing him in the same grip, as Jiyong rubs his hand against the pre-cum that's gathered at the slit, getting his fingers slick. He holds his cock in his slim hand and refuses to remove his other hand, that silences Youngbae and all his protests, all his concerns. Youngbae struggles to breathe through his nose, barely enough air to keep him upright, towed upstream towards the source of pleasure. 

Jiyong grits his teeth and twists his hand, squeezes Youngbae's jaw hard enough to bruise, and he is on the edge of everything - unconsciousness, ecstasy, pain, surrender - only to topple over, helpless, shuddering. 

Strings of cum wind around Jiyong's fingers, and he lifts it up to Youngbae's dry lips, feeding it to him digit by digit. He licks them faithfully clean, his eyes dull and emptied and content to take whatever Jiyong sees fit to give him. 

 

 


End file.
